


Don't Give Your Heart To Anyone

by fandomfairytales



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, But only for Hermione, Draco is in love with Hermione, Draco to the Rescue, Emotional Abuse, F/M, Fluff and Smut, HEA, He's definitely cheated with Lav-Lav at some point, Hermione deserves one night where she doesn't cry in a pretty dress, Hermione isn't in love with Ron, I couldn't write Dramione without these two banging at the end, I had Yule Ball feels when I wrote this, I promised I would never do him like that, Oops I Lied, Pining, Ron Weasley Bashing, Ron isn't in love with Hermione, Ron ruins everything, Sarcasm, Smut, The Author Regrets Everything, They're a mess, after an epic breakup with Ron, all the smut tags guys, and, but of course, dramione - Freeform, except the fact this is classic, excessive descriptions of Draco's heart eyes, he's so soft, i'm a mess, might be some elements of, no joke he's an asshole, not gonna lie, so much pining, tagging it just in case, this was hard to tag, what can i say except, when did this become
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 21:49:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20478005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomfairytales/pseuds/fandomfairytales
Summary: 'Hermione Granger had always been the type of girl that had no idea just how radiant she was. As a woman she was even more clueless; a fact Draco Malfoy was all too happy to exploit, considering how complex their relationship had become in recent years.'oOoDraco Malfoy is in love with the one girl he simply cannot have; working side by side, day by day, he takes what he can get as her friend and confidante; until one fateful, disastrous charity ball changes everything.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [DramioneFanfictionForum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DramioneFanfictionForum/pseuds/DramioneFanfictionForum) in the [2019SoundsLikeDramione](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2019SoundsLikeDramione) collection. 

> **Prompt:**  
"But while we're apart, don't give your heart to anyone..."  
Save The Last Dance For Me - Michael Buble
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me but are the property of JKR And Warner Bros and no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> I would like to thank my alpha and/or my beta, who shall remain nameless at this time, for their work.

_You can dance every dance with the guy _

_Who gives you the eye, _

_l_ _et him hold you tight _

_You can smile every smile for the man _

_Who held your hand ‘neath the pale moonlight_

Hermione Granger had always been the type of girl that had no idea just how radiant she was. As a woman she was even more clueless; a fact Draco Malfoy was all too happy to exploit, considering how complex their relationship had become in recent years.

Working alongside the ‘Golden Girl’ was a new brand of torture for the man that was formerly her most reliable tormentor. Childish quarrels were eventually set aside, prejudices were carved out (not all of them were his) and replaced with compromise (and behaviour that often oscillated between mumbled compliments and gentle, bitless teasing).

Unfortunately, getting to know his enemy left him vulnerable. With no hatred-enforced distance to protect himself, he came to more than a few difficult conclusions regarding the jumble of feelings he had for the brightest witch of their age.

Introspection truly was the harbinger of havoc in his case. The study of self under new criteria bore stranger truths than he ever could have imagined.

For example; Recollection of the first time he truly let himself be in awe of her.

He could just about visualise his fourth-year-self watching her accidentally make a grand entrance at the Yule Ball; he’d been struck dumb, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of Granger, looking rather more like an angel in periwinkle than the unappealing visage (exaggerated beaver-teeth and all) he had conjured and spent years layering over her features in the depths of his mind.

She smiled brightly, sparkling golden, as her nickname suggested with each twirling pass beneath the pale, artificial moon hung high above them, dancing with grace he hadn’t thought her capable of; until, unfortunately, Weaselbee went and ruined it for everyone (read; himself and Krum… But mostly him), resulting in her tearful, hasty exit.

The fact he almost followed with the intention of at least offering her a handkerchief, perhaps a shoulder to cry on despite their past, proved it was possible to break his programming.

Hard as he tried to deny it, his beliefs were more than shaken. In fact, they were comparable to a broken watch; one cog dislodged, and his entire system failed. Unfortunately, he didn’t notice he’d stopped ‘ticking’ for quite some time.

Years later (and in less denial) he still wondered what he’d been thinking. As if she’d ever deign to accept his kindness. At best she would have assumed he came to gloat over her pathetic sobbing, at worst; that it was all a cruel joke intended to take advantage of her weakness.

Somewhere very, very, very deep down he despised possession of such knowledge and in the wake of his revelation, Draco’s constitution crumbled; the veil of prejudice fell from his eyes to reveal one glaring, cold, hard truth.

His admiration stretched further back than he wished to acknowledge. Before blood, status and house rivalry, there had been an undeniable spark, one he doused with a dam’s worth of misplaced faith in the teachings of his father; in reality, their great feud stemmed from the fact he lacked the ability to change the factors that predestined it. (And if that didn’t just sum up his entitled nature: prone to childishly lashing out when he couldn’t have what he wanted).


	2. Chapter 2

_Oh I know that the music's fine_  
_Like sparklin' wine, go and have your fun_  
_ Laugh and sing, but while we're apart_  
_ Don't give your heart to anyone_

_ _

The only way to describe Draco’s life post-war was ‘rehabilitation’. In the five years since the final battle, he had spent every waking moment dedicating himself to becoming a better man.

He beat expectations and served his two years mandated parole as a model citizen. (In not so many words, it was a long and twisted journey that led right back to her).

The first was spent completing his education. No simple feat considering most of his peers were out for vengeance, once his intended return leaked to the Prophet. It was almost funny, the way they beat him and left him on the train, forcing him to recall doing the same to Potter practically a lifetime ago.

They wanted him to feel their pain, and in all honesty, he felt he deserved it, he took it (and all that followed) like penance because their brand of justice was nothing less than understandable with the innumerable losses they had suffered. He counted himself lucky it hadn’t gone further; fists hurt, but a well-meant curse could do so much more damage. And he’d suffered under the cruciatus…Enough to last four lifetimes.

It had been nothing short of a shock to find McGonagall (technically three, until he shook his head to clear his vision) gently shaking him back to consciousness, crouched in the carriage and offering a helping hand until he found his feet, ready to lead him to the only place he could really call home, despite his cold reception.

Overcoming his guilt to accept assistance was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but he took it for the opportunity it was, finally humbled enough to start trying to make amends and earn forgiveness. Once he started, there was no stopping the torrent…

Following a path to redemption was his saving grace; he discovered kindness in the strangest of places, from Hagrid to Headmistress McGonagall, Professor Trelawney and the often-unseen house-elves.

For all the hardships Draco endured in his final year at Hogwarts, he felt he could be proud of himself and his progress; making every achievement _for_ those who chose to see beyond his boyhood failings and instead helped him rise above them.

It was enough to fuse most of the cracks running through his soul, but there was still one that ran deeper than the Mariana trench, one he didn’t know how to approach let alone repair; so, he continued to avoid the head girl, swearing to himself that one day he’d figure it out.

The year ended before he could.

Diplomas were handed out to that ageless Elgar tune, she made a speech about unity and the importance of hard work and that was it...

His second year of parole was much quieter. Hardly anything of import, with the minor exception of figuring out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. A rather welcome, and normal challenge for someone his age and one he had thought he would never have to face; however, with his father in his rightful place, rotting away in Azkaban and his mother exiled to France, he could choose what to do with his inherited responsibilities.

While deliberating, he was all too happy to ensure things ran smoothly. His involvement also served to provide insight he sorely needed. He had expected to find it all in shambles with his father gone but after a brief examination realised, he had wrongly assumed all Malfoy enterprises and employees were, by default, shady. It turned out the good, everyday witches and wizards with positions in the various branches of his company, all hardworking and intelligent people with surprising amounts of loyalty had not only kept things running but had left the company thriving.

He simply had to keep it on course before appointing new management.

He took it as an honour to lead them, even for a short time. He pulled his weight while he could, ensured their war reparations were repaid and made as many meaningful donations as possible once he realised the amount demanded by the ministry was, in reality, a pittance, compared to the vast fortune amassed by the Malfoy Empire (it didn’t even empty _one_ of their many vaults).

He gave his workers the rewards they deserved, made sure they were content, restructured one or two things… However, the second he could, he took his freedom and foisted his position onto the only two people he trusted enough to take care of things; Blaise and Theo were thrilled of course, no longer tied to their families post-war, it was their way of cementing their brotherhood and getting what they all wanted.

Theo, a businessman from birth was able to apply his ‘old money’ acumen and tactics after the loss of his own family holdings; and offset by Zabini’s passion and stellar nose for a good deal, they truly were what Draco considered a dream team.

Best of all, leaving everything in their capable hands left him open to not only find and decide on an interest, but pursue it (though he couldn’t resist checking in from time to time, just to annoy them).

Looking back, he hadn’t realised how many dominoes had to fall to land him back in Hermione Granger’s presence, his first day studying to become a healer, he hadn’t crossed paths with her; it took almost a year before he literally ran into her. To say it had gone well would be a lie, books and half-formed apologies were strewn everywhere until they both realised who they were talking to.

Semesters ticked by and as fate would have it, with their marks neck and neck, they often found themselves paired up for a variety of tasks and assignments. After graduation the situation remained the same; paired together the moment they coincidentally reported for their first shift at St. Mungos at exactly quarter past seven.

He literally couldn’t escape her, she filled every waking hour with her stupidly gorgeous face, wild hair and sharp wit; and eventually, Hermione invaded his dreams too. Regardless of their professional relationship, there was little he could do but be taken along from the ride, watching her as a passive bystander while he pined away; until one day he realised at some point they stopped tolerating each other and were what one might describe as ‘good friends’.

That was almost unbearable.

Like Icarus, he knew he was flying into trouble, but what could he do? He was greedy, soaking up every last ray of her presence and company; allowing himself to joke with her in the break room, banter over coffee and sandwiches, even going grocery shopping together because they usually had the same shifts off (for a brief period of time he wondered if the roster was intentionally set up that way).

It baffled him that two people that had once vehemently hated each other could manage to be in the same room, and somehow, mutually enjoy it.

She even let her guard down around him occasionally, still more than she should have; but he never mistreated the honour of witnessing her vulnerability. He liked the privilege of her honesty, about the war, how she was dealing with it, how terrible things were when they weren’t working together, he was even happy to listen to the bumps in her relationship; Molly could be pushy about grandkids when she wanted to be, and Ron lacked the ability to say no to his mother, little did he know it had taken a certain blond Slytherin’s help to diffuse Hermione.

He never let her share alone either. He permitted her to see the pain behind his façade, usually when he felt in control of it, sometimes unintentionally; like the day he rolled up his sleeves to avoid getting blood on them, unaware he’d forgotten to glamour his dark mark. She didn’t cower or look at him with disgust, she simply tapped him on the shoulder and quietly let him know before anyone else could notice.

At the time his shame had consumed him, that she saw the filthy, permanent evidence of his poor choices; Naturally, he ran and yet again she proved herself a true and honest friend; instead of recoiling she followed, bringing comfort, reassurance and understanding with her.

It took months to believe that she could stand his company, but that day had cemented everything he felt for her, regardless of his ability to admit it.

Seeing her walking to work with Weaselbee made it easier. It reminded him of his station (even though he often fantasized about taking Weasel’s place). She would peck his cheek and send him off with a wave and a cry of ‘Have a good day at work, Ron’ Before he apparated away with a suspiciously half-hearted expression… But that was none of his business.

In some twisted way, as her friend he was glad for her, she seemed happy and for all his failings, that was what he hoped for her.

Regarding everything else, he was painfully jealous but completely unwilling to destroy a single shred of the joy she truly deserved. He loved her in every way he was supposed to and kept the rest tucked away in the recesses of his wicked heart.

Then Lavender Brown stuck her nose… Well, more accurately, her tits where they didn’t belong, and it all went to hell.


	3. Chapter 3

_You can dance, go and carry on_  
_'Til the night is gone_  
_ And it's time to go_  
_ If he asks if you're all alone_  
_ Can he walk you home, you must tell him no_

_ _

Charity Balls had been his mother’s favourite thing in the world; The perfect PR opportunity; altruism and vanity all rolled into one.

Everyone would bring out their cheque books, conveniently forget a quill and wear their most extravagant family diamonds, at an event intended to remind those on top how needy those on the bottom of the heap were.

Bunch of hypocrites the lot of them (his parents included).

Having attended events like the St. Mungos Ball since he was old enough to understand that tipping a punchbowl on the President of the ‘Society for the Protection of Wretched and Unfortunate Witches and Wizards in England’ was not a hilarious prank; he knew the benefit of a good attitude and smart dress robes when trying to convince families like his own to ignore their miserly instincts.

Which was exactly why orders had been delivered from on high for him to dust off his aforementioned robes and attend, 'whether he liked it or not.'

oOo

Naturally, Hermione had been the first to hear him grumbling about it as they made their rounds. Even kooky old Mrs Yaga (thankfully just a descendant) hadn’t been able to soften his scowl with her constant proposals of marriage while he checked her blood pressure.

Not one to stay silent, she confronted him the moment they exited the room.

“Do you plan on moaning under your breath all day? Or are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

Prying little Witch.

“Draco? -” She purposefully bumped into him with a mischievous look he tried not to fall for. “-Come on, you know I’ll get it out of you eventually.”

He really couldn’t disagree; he was defenceless against that curious little smile.

“Okay, fine… They’re making me go to the charity thing next week-”

“You know we all have to go, right?”

“-Yes yes, and I know that it’s important to thank all the Hoity-toity donors and beg for more, etcetera, I tried to say I couldn’t make it, but most of them are people I knew…”

“Before the war?”

Her interjection tied his stomach in multiple anxious knots; he had no problem admitting to his past, but with her, he still felt overwhelmingly ashamed by it, like at any moment she would realise how terrible he truly was and revoke her forgiveness, her friendship, everything… because regardless of the good he did, that was what he felt he deserved.

He forced himself to nod, feeling the tension rise.

“Exactly; therefore, half of them wish I’d never been born, and the other half wish I’d died in the battle along with my secrets.”

“Hmm, yes you did quite the number on wizarding aristocracy during your trial didn’t you.”

He managed a wry laugh

“Kill or be killed really; besides, I was the better witness, certainly gave that courtroom intrigue a dramatic kick up the arse.”

“Merlin, only you would be proud of your ability to snitch.”

“At least this time it was for the greater good, better me ratting them out...”

“I can’t argue with you there. So, there’s really no way out then?”

“Nope, tried everything, even grovelling.”

“Well now, I know that part is a lie, what was it you said when you needed someone to take your shift last month? Oh yes, Malfoys don’t grovel?”

“Ugh, curse you and your brilliant memory; Semantics, Hermione. Also, that is far from being helpful.”

“Aw, but you’re too easy to tease. Still, have you thought about just calling in sick on the day?”

“Course not! Could I be any more obvious? What about that handy-dandy invisibility cloak Potter always flaunted about, perhaps you could borrow it on my behalf?”

Did she have to look so cute every time she rolled her eyes?

“Like Harry would give it up; just disillusion yourself.”

“Still too easy for someone to notice me through the charm.”

“Fine, how about a date? Could work as a human shield, you know, but with lipstick and a clutch that matches her dress?”

“With who?-” He laughed insincerely “-Hermione, you seem to forget, for all my charm and god-given good looks, I am un-date-able;” over annunciating for effect, he saw her attempt to hide a smirk in her hand “-Former Death Eater remember? Women avoid me like dragon pox.”

“What if I found someone for you?”

oOo

He wished he could have produced a better rebuttal, something more convincing to halt where things were going; the last thing he wanted was to lead some poor girl on…

Unfortunately, Hermione was incredibly persistent. In a mere two days she was boasting about having found a contender, and if there was one thing he knew for certain; he could not possibly, accidentally have fun with the likes of Lavender Brown.

Still, he could hardly let Hermione’s efforts go to waste, so, he resolved himself to grinning and bearing the vapid blonde’s company for one evening (even if it did make the prospect of attending exponentially more unappealing). He had his robes cleaned and pressed, bought her a tasteful but resolutely friendly bouquet, ensuring that all the flowers indicated platonic thanks and arranged a time to pick her up before the event.

Most wouldn’t think he could be thoughtful, all they saw was the teenage death eater, spitting hatred, prejudice and dark curses wherever he went (He assumed Lavender included). However, Narcissa Malfoy neé Black had raised him, and paired with his hard-earned redemption; his perfect manners, polite turn a phrase and ability to work a room all contributed to an upstanding member of society, someone that earned the title of gentleman.

With a little help from Tilly (his completely spoiled house elf and former nanny), and much less fuss than when he was little, he managed to leave the house with his tie straight and his shirt properly tucked in, sending her their traditional little wave on his way out.

He apparated to Lavender’s flat, barely knocking three times before the door burst open, wafting the overpowering, nasty stench of her perfume directly at him.

Evidently, she took his silence to mean he was shocked by her beauty, which was the furthest thing from the truth; once he managed to step back and take a breath of fresh air, he had to force himself to keep his eyes up. Not to be mistaken for a prude, any gentleman would have done the same with the sheer amount of cleavage she was showing; she highlighted her assets so effectively her chest was comparable to a lighthouse beacon.

And in fact, she was practically glowing, the unflattering satin shade of chartreuse she was wearing certainly caught the light poorly; it almost made him grimace…

It was all too much, not that he disliked bold fashion choices (though his tastes were rather particularly focused on the less is more approach Hermione lived by), it just didn’t work on her; frankly, she looked garish and overdone, not that he would dare say it to her face.

Instead, he made sure to compliment her as best he could and keep his sarcasm to himself.

“Your hair looks lovely done up like that, Lavender.”

I can smell the hairspray and Sleekeazy’s from here, eugh.

“Do you need a hand with your coat?”

I’m surprised it doesn’t match (thank Circe it doesn’t match)

Once she was ready, he grudgingly held out his arm, disapparating with a resounding crack.

He slipped from her grasp as soon as he could but didn’t complain when she latched on while they walked to the venue, requiring just a little assistance navigating the cobblestones in her sky-high stilettos.

Entering the ball, he had to remind himself not to slouch while the photographers attempted to blind him, truly his subconscious wanted to disappear, however, with his distinctive features and last name, that was an impossible dream he would never achieve.

Rather than stand about, sulking over his lack of anonymity, he made a beeline for the bar; focusing on shuffling toward service and the promise of half-decent scotch and of course a glass of something pink for his ‘date’.

Weaving back through smatterings of people chatting, he was struck by a sudden and palpable sense of déjà vu, the closer he came to the fringe of the crowd the more he succumbed to the symptoms of inexplicable anticipation.

When the doors announced the next entrants with what could be considered a charmingly ‘antique creak’ he understood what his instincts were trying to tell him... It was the second time in his life he experienced a room stopping en-masse to watch Hermione make an entrance.

Cameras swarmed instantly, the flashes illuminating the subtle dusting of glitter over her dress… None of those photos would ever truly do her beauty justice, but at least everyone would wake up Sunday morning, open their papers, and see their beloved ‘Golden Girl’ transition from ‘Gryffindor’s Princess’ to its queen; and not just because her burgundy gown, flocked with swirling gold patterns that migrated across the fabric at will, made her look every inch the part.

Unable to face her until the shock wore off, he quickly slipped back into the crowd, searching for Lavender, hoping her presence would provide the metaphorical bucket of ice water he sorely needed. Regaining a decent hold on his self-control, he started the familiar process of mentally preparing himself to talk to Hermione, while she was occupied with escaping the throng of leeches swarmed around her.


	4. Chapter 4

_'Cause don't forget who's taking you home_  
_And in whose arms you're gonna be_  
_ So darling, save the last dance for me_

Draco made a point of asking Lavender to dance intermittently (she didn’t deserve a complete wallflower for a date), though mostly it was a tool to escape conversations he wished would end sooner, rather than later. Hermione had been right, bringing someone along did alleviate some of the anxiety (though it did nothing for his disgust having to see and speak to people he knew had served the dark lord without taking the mark).

He tried not to look her way, he really did, but she was magnetic, and he wasn’t particularly interested in locking eyes with Lavender, it had already happened once or twice and only served to make him sweat uncomfortably.

Hermione’s dress swooped and flicked in time with the waltz, gravity and speed playing its role in highlighting how grand she looked with each turn. Unfortunately, the expression she wore didn’t match; in fact, she looked how he felt internally… Like she would rather be _anywhere_ else.

Her eyes were vacant, her face similarly blank but clearly hiding strain and while he couldn’t hear the conversation she was having with Weaselbee, it wasn’t hard to figure out they were in the middle of an argument, one Hermione hadn’t started if the way she flinched and leaned away from her partner at every opportunity was any indication.

He wanted so badly to mind his own business, but she looked on the verge of crying and with all the paparazzi roaming with their claws and cameras out, any emotional outbursts were bound to be front-page news. He strategically wove his way closer to her (but not too close to overhear something he may not wish to) once the waltz ended and Lavender went to powder her nose or some such nonsense, making sure she saw him before he officially interrupted.

“Stay there, I’ll come to you.” She mouthed at him.

She gathered her skirts with a bright smile and a small wave, making her way over before Ron or another adoring fan could hold her captive. His heart pounded triple time with every step that brought her closer and he fought the blush rising in his cheeks valiantly until his view was rudely obscured by a Weasel wearing a sulky pout that did him no favours.

“Still using too much hair product I see.” Ron narrowed his eyes, clearly disapproving of Hermione’s choice to embrace his nemesis.

“Mmh, well at least my robes don’t smell like mothballs. Although I must admit they are an improvement on that dress you wore to the Yule Ball.” He retorted, deciding to hold on a little longer, just to antagonise him further (and maybe see if that little vein would pop out on his forehead).

Hermione swatted his arm, suitably chastised them both with a briefly raised brow and stepped back, returning to Ron’s side to stand stiffly beside him with that same false smile Draco didn’t believe for one second; he’d seen the real thing often enough to know something was incredibly wrong.

It was like spot the difference, but he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly was causing such tension between them; whatever it was the vibe was decidedly _frosty_. They had always seemed so perfect, unbreakable; but makeup couldn’t hide her slightly red eyes, or the puffiness residing there, nor could she disguise her intermittent sniffles.

And then he finally saw.

There was also no denying where Ron’s eyes were wandering…

“Sooo, how’s it going with Lavender?”

He had to resist the urge to roll his eyes and reply sarcastically. It wasn’t _his_ relationship with Lavender she needed to politely concern herself with.

“Um… It’s going fine, I guess? I don’t think she’s quite my type though.”

“Bloody hell, are you blind? In that dress, she’s anyone’s type, just look at her-”

“Well, why don’t you just date her instead, Ronald!”

Apparently, he had been wrong, she seemed perfectly aware of her boyfriend’s interest in his former squeeze…

He’d witnessed plenty of his parents’ arguments in his life, they had contributed greatly to his aptitude for taunting in a variety of creative ways; watching Ron and Hermione's fight was the complete antithesis.

They hissed, spat and lashed curses at one another, violent as fire with their words without ever needing to raise their voices, leaving nothing but scorched pride behind. They obliterated each other with assumptions and allusions, unspoken issues and past traumas they’d never worked out; which evidently included Ron’s previous dalliances with Lavender.

Regardless of his stakes in the game, he hated seeing her in pain, hated the feeling that it seemed more like an ending than a simple lovers quarrel, easily solved.

“… No, Ron, this isn’t about me, or whatever you’re insinuating regarding Draco! Do you want to know what the problem is? You’re so insecure you don’t know _how_ to trust me.”

He’d been trying his best not to pay attention, to give them some sort of privacy considering he was unable to walk away, but he couldn’t help the way his ears pricked up at the sound of his name.

“It’s not _you_ that I don’t trust, it's _him_!”

Draco wasn’t sure what he did to deserve the redhead wagging an accusing finger in his face, but he certainly wasn’t going to ask and risk a right hook before he could get his hands up to defend himself (he certainly wouldn’t miss a chance to land a decent punch, but he had his bone structure to think of after all).

“That. Is. The. Same. Damn. Thing.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to think, you tell me, Hermione? He’s practically all you talk about, I ask you how your day is and all I hear is _Draco_ and I this, Draco and I that, and you can’t tell me you haven’t noticed how he looks at you.”

“And how does he look at me, huh?”

“Like you… Like he wants to- It makes me sick.”

He almost wanted to intervene, to stand up for himself, but interjecting with more lies wasn’t going to be any help.

“Is it anything like the way you looked at Lavender when we walked in?”

She sounded so defeated, her tone void and flat; There she stood in another beautiful gown, torn down and about to cry her eyes out when she should have been nothing but content.

“I’ve tried so hard to play along, all this time I thought the problem was me, even tonight, y-you said you liked red, I wore red … Even after you lost it over me setting them up, and I knew why... I've always known… I wanted to be what you wanted; now I’m just done, with all of it.”

If he’d thought he disliked awkward silence, what followed her confession was worse; it couldn’t be described as the calm at the eye of the cyclone, it was the dejected acceptance that followed in the storm’s destructive wake.

Ron, on the other hand, needed no metaphors to describe his boiling anger and Draco had no doubt he was about to make quite the scene.

While he still stood there gaping like an inarticulate fish, Draco made his move; taking his cues from Hermione, he stepped between them before things could escalate, shielding her and guiding Weasel away simultaneously.

“I think it might be best you give her some space, mate.”

“I’m not your mate, _Ferret_-”

He tried and immediately failed to jerk out of Draco’s firm grip on his shoulder.

“- Take your sodding hands off me!!!”

“Ron, please don’t!”

Well, no one could say Draco hadn’t tried to diffuse the situation, at least when the Weasel shoved him, he managed to keep his footing and his dignity with a room full of eyes firmly locked on them.

The metaphorical gloves came off and he wasted no time stalking forward to snatch Weasley up by his shirt front, fully prepared to drag him out himself. Unfortunately, Lavender had finally decided to make a reappearance and came hurtling toward them with an ungodly screech, dragging her nails down his face until she drew blood.

“Fuck!”

He cupped his torn skin, fingers returning crimson and slick. Before he could open his mouth to mutter a suitable curse at his rogue date, Hermione had delivered a perfectly aimed _‘Digitos evanescet’_; a nasty jinx that effectively (and poetically) removed three of Lavender’s fingers. He didn’t feel at all sorry for the bloody bint, shooting an incarcerous at her for good measure.

Ignoring the pain as best he could, he tightened his grip on Weasley with a snarl and returned to the task of marching the struggling redhead toward the doors, ignoring Lavender’s wails of protest from the floor until Hermione finally saw fit to silence her via good old-fashioned petrification.

Unable to let Weaselbee off without having the final word, he shoved his adversary outside, kicking the heavy door closed behind him to keep away prying ears.

“You’re going to leave her alone from now on. Are we clear? Do what you want, shack up with Lavender for all I care, you two deserve each other if she’ll have you; But if you come near Hermione again, or try to rub salt in her wounds in any way… I will end you myself, Azkaban be damned.”

“Seems I was right about you wanting her for yourself.”

As if his actions hadn’t made that clear enough. What point was there in confessing?

“Well, you certainly didn’t; but one man’s fault is another man’s lesson I guess.”

A flash of hurt crossed Weasley’s face and Draco almost felt guilty… _Almost._

With nothing left to say, Draco simply turned his back and walked back inside, leaving Weasley grumbling and cursing in the freezing rain. He truly hoped that would be the end of that.


	5. Chapter 5

_Baby don't you know I love you so_  
_Can't you feel it when we touch_  
_ I will never never let you go_  
_ I love you oh so much_

_ _

Most people had already lost interest in their scuffle, returning to their idle chatter and the excitement of the rapidly concluding silent auction; however, there were stragglers still needling for information as he traversed the room (with his face still bloody he couldn’t blame them). He ignored them, singular in his intent. When he found Hermione again, she explained sheepishly that Lavender had been taken to St. Mungos for treatment, unable to meet his gaze.

“Hermione, would you like me to take you home?”

She continued to study the floor, deep enough in thought her brows furrowed.

“Not yet.”

“Are you sure? You know it’s not like I have a date to keep in mind.”

She smiled lightly, finally looking up at him only to clap a hand over her mouth in shock.

“Oh! Draco, you should have said something! Sweet Circe, look at your face-” She patted her skirt, rifling around until she found the hidden pocket containing her wand “-Ah-ha! Now you come sit over here and let me fix that.”

He almost laughed at the juxtaposition of her dragging him to the nearest table, her small hand fisted in the sleeve of his robes with a chair firmly in her sights.

She pushed him down with both hands on his shoulders, her _chair_side manner firm but never rough; she gently cupped his face and he resisted the urge to shiver because it felt more electric than it usually did when she patched him up (being an avid local quidditch player meant this wasn’t the first time she had treated his wounds and it wouldn’t be the last).

A quick scourgify freed him of the half-dried blood caked on his skin; seeming satisfied with her handiwork, she turned his head this way and that, mystery growing in her eyes as she stepped closer, standing between his knees to lean down closer.

He didn’t see the eyedropper filled with dittany until it was too late.

“Fucking, fuck; that shit hurts!! Merlin, Granger, warn me next time will you!?”

“Sorry, I just didn’t want to build it up.”

Once the burning pain and throbbing subsided, they slipped into an uneasy silence; he managed to forgive her, patting the seat beside him until she thought better of standing in her heels, rearranged her skirt and sat down.

They stayed there for longer than either of them realised, song after song passed until finally, he managed to spit out five words that would change his life for the better.

“W-would you maybe, like to dance with me?”

She nodded, accepting his help to stand with a warm smile that melted his insides.

They swayed for a while, happy to just let everyone else pass them by, the night was almost at its end and nobody could really be bothered with regimented social dancing. They endured a couple of songs in easy silence until, eventually, he felt the weighty presence of things that need be said.

“So, are we going to talk about what happened, or are you working on entering a state of denial?”

“To which part are you referring, Hermione?”

“Well, there’s a few that come to mind, but how about we start with that thing Ron said about the way you look at me… Is that true? D-do you, um…”

“-Do I look at you like you’re the centre of my universe?”

“Well, uhh- yeah?”

“I’m not going to lie and say that I don’t. I have for a while now, but I wasn’t going to ruin the good thing you had going with the ginger git.”

“How long?”

“Hmm?”

“How long have you been keeping this from me?”

“Longer than I should have that’s for sure.”

“Well, I suppose I can’t really be mad at you for that now…”

“No, but then again, you can’t stay angry at me these days.”

She swatted his arm with a playful smirk, and he wondered what was going on in her head. The evening had been nothing short of an emotional roller-coaster, but she seemed to be taking it all in stride.

“I’m glad I know though-”

He very nearly choked on his tongue. A flash of fear coursed through him and he prayed he’d heard her right.

“-Things have been rough with Ron for a while now, sometimes things end at the right time, honestly it feels so natural it almost doesn’t hurt…So, I’m not going to sit here and lie about the fact that occasionally I wondered about ‘us’; if anything, tonight helped me feel less alone, knowing I wasn’t the only one that did…”

He didn’t think there was a drop of sense or oxygen left in his body by the time she finished; he was floating in a swirl of endorphins and oxytocin, induced by her confession, a cocktail so potent he thought he might pass out from pure elation.

“… And you know, you weren’t exactly helpful. Merlin, it was like playing hot and cold with you all the time; just when I thought I could be certain you felt something more, you’d pull back and prove me wrong.”

“I’m sorry, you could probably- Nope, definitely chalk that up to simple idiocy. But I would like you to know I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I wanted everybody to be happy, including myself and that meant not losing you; however, I am only human and sometimes I’d forget myself.”

“Draco, that’s understandable, but you know you could have told me? We could have dealt with it together; I wouldn’t have deserted you.”

“Well, I know that now.”

“Don’t tell me you thought I’d hold it against you? Honestly how long do you think I spent being friends with Ron before he figured out that he was in love with me, hell, it took jealousy and a Horcrux vision to spur him into acting on it- Which, yes I realise wasn’t the right reason to do so- But surely you didn’t think it would have changed anything?”

“It would have changed plenty. As far as I was aware you were in love, you were happy; if I told you-” he paused to take a deep breath, shoving down the painful truth of what he intended to say next “-I would have just been a thorn in the side of your love story… And worse, you would have pitied me for it, like you probably do now, you all would have, for the simple fact I even dared to look at or fall for someone I knew I’d never deserve.”

He sighed with relief and his body naturally relaxed as silence settled once again, the weight of his burdens partially lifted. For someone so consistently uncomfortable when there was no conversation to fill the space, he was content waiting for her to start agreeing with him, expecting to hear confirmation of it any moment.

A raised, restrained hand and a violent flinch later (he never forgot just how hard she could slap), he was shocked to find she vehemently and passionately disagreed.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy! What gives you the right to- No no no! Where do you get the gall to think I would- that you’d be-- that you don’t deserve--- Jesus, Draco, I knew you had confidence issues, problems with self-worth but I had no idea it ran this deep.”

She scrubbed a hand down her face, failing to hide her frustration in such close quarters, taking a beat to think of what to say next.

“Do you think you deserved to finish your education at Hogwarts?”

“Uhm… No?”

He blinked down at her in confusion, unsure where she was going.

“Okay, why not?”

“Students died there because of me… And the ones that survived were forced to deal with the fact they had a traitor among them, a filthy death eater...”

She raised an eyebrow at that, but continued without mentioning the paradox he’d created; once upon a time, he’d called her filthy… The tables had well and truly turned.

“Did you kill anyone during the battle?”

“N-no.”

He instinctively shuffled nervously and immediately had to apologise for stepping on her foot mid waltz, like some sort of uneducated amateur.

“What about during the war? Did you, Draco Malfoy personally murder anybody?”

“No! You know I didn’t… I-I couldn’t; Otherwise, they would have thrown me in Azkaban with the rest of them after they checked my wand.”

“Did you take care of Luna while she was a prisoner at the Manor?”

“If you’re asking, then you already know the answer.”

“Did you help Harry, Ron and I escape at Easter?”

He didn’t reply, recalling her torture under his aunt’s wand still haunted his nightmares; as indoctrinated as he’d been at the time, that was the final straw, he could hardly bear being forced to witness such inhumane treatment; so he intervened (sure it cost him a few crucio’s but he couldn’t watch her die like that, he’d been overjoyed when they escaped).

“Last question, I promise… What I really want to know is, if you didn’t murder anyone, helped people you’d been taught your whole life to hate and then did everything you could to redeem yourself and lead a better life, etcetera in the years that followed; why _don’t_ you deserve to be happy?”

“I- I still chose to hurt people. I could have turned my back sooner, made better choices, listened to my godfather and Dumbledore and everyone else when they tried to guide me to the light, or into doing what was right… I only changed when I had to, and I did it far too late to make a difference.”

“You think it doesn’t make a difference? Are you being serious?!-” She closed her eyes and sighed, calming herself before continuing “-I’m sorry, I promised no more questions...” It didn’t work “…Are you fucking joking though?!”

He snuck a reluctant glance at her, his eyes leaving the floor for the first time in what felt like an age; all he found was indignant fire burning in her eyes. For some ridiculous unknown reason, his heart began to race, and he struggled not to tighten his grip on her hand or waist (or lose his footing).

“You are the most stubborn, obstinate man in the universe. It makes all the difference! You chose it for yourself, and ‘what if’s’ are just fuel to feed your guilt. Do you have any idea how much people respect you for pulling yourself out of the muck your family tried to drown you in? Or how much I admire the fact you stood up to your aunt to save me- Me, the little mudblood you hated?”

“Please, don’t call yourself that, I can’t…”

“-Can’t what? Can’t bear to hear me refer to myself using a word that means my blood is dirty compared to yours? Newsflash Draco, you may have been the first to call me that, but you certainly weren’t the only or the last and I have the damn scars to prove it-”

She jabbed a finger into his chest to drive her point home.

“-_You_ are a good person, whether you like it or not. You did everything you could to make amends; Don’t think I don’t know about the apologies you’ve made, the strings you pulled when Katie wanted to study with that Chef in Paris, or the fact that you’ve donated more to St. Mungos and Merlin knows how many other charities than any of these stuck up, arseholes attending tonight… And you know what, even without all that, the Draco I’ve come to know; the one that jokes around with me, consoles me when things don’t go the way I hoped, compliments me even though I know my hair looks like an occamy nest and brings me coffee, doughnuts and an iron supplements because he knows I definitely forgot to take one, just by looking at how dark the circles under my eyes are… That Draco is as easy to love as breathing and no less deserving of it compared to anyone else.”

She immediately inhaled with a comical gasp and he mentally commended her on managing her rant in one breath, but really, he was just stalling…

He wanted her to catch it for the sole purpose of stealing it away again himself. The moment she returned to a steady, even pattern, he followed through.

In the history of kisses, he was certain that _theirs_ (for all it lacked in subtlety and art), was the most passionate (Yes, he was referencing The Princess Bride; no, he did not care that it was sappy); Hermione Granger kissed him back the second his lips met hers, luxuriating in the torrent of pent up longing and emotion that had finally been released.

It was all he didn’t know he needed and more. Timing be damned, she was free of Weasley, willing and wanting in his embrace; and Draco wasn’t wasting another second on convention, propriety or etiquette. He didn’t care who saw, who stared (or rather gawked) at them; he was lost in his bliss, so far gone that the rest of the world ceased to exist beyond the sensation of her teeth nipping playfully at his lower lip as she smiled into their kiss and her delicate fingers seeking purchase in his (formerly) perfectly styled hair, pulling him closer.

Forced to come up for air, he couldn’t bear to leave even an inch between them, swaying with her body fused to his, her face buried in his shirt as the last dance commenced, he wondered how he got so lucky… Then he stopped, because who was he to question a miracle?

For all the turmoil and anger, at the end of the night, the last dance was his and his arms were the only place she wanted to be.

There was only one thing he wanted to change (not entirely for his benefit, he simply hated what it symbolised); and with an ever so subtle wave of his wand, her dress morphed from crimson to a lovely shade of emerald green.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay lovelies 
> 
> Here comes a lil bit of smut... Because IDGAF about how long one should wait after a breakup; I told myself it's not a rebound so it’s ok :)

_‘Cause don't forget who's taking you home_  
_ And in whose arms you're gonna be_  
_ So darling, save the last dance for me_  
_ Oh baby, won't you save the last dance for me_  
_ Oh, you make a promise_  
_ That you'll save the last dance for me_  
_ Save the last dance_  
_ The very last dance_  
_ For me._

_ _

Lightweights, hangovers and birdsong were, without doubt, a match made in Hell. Groaning into his pillow, head pounding as he tried desperately to cling to the last vestiges of sleep, he shifted his weight only to discover something, or rather someone coiling tightly around him, trying to prevent his escape.

He opened his eyes slowly, the night before playing back as his bedmate was revealed.

oOo

_He wasn’t ready to let her go when the last dance ended, instead, he held her steadfast until the last note was well beyond hearing, unsure of how long this moment in time would last._

_Then her lips tenderly brushed the edge of his jaw, close to his ear; and in a soft voice, barely above a whisper she said:_

_“Now you can take me home.”_

_He apparated in a heartbeat, and he could have sworn his wards hummed with happiness the moment she passed through. _

_Unable to continue without first ensuring her intentions were sound, he quickly set his mind to figuring out how to politely ask what she wanted (no easy feat considering she was steadily working him into a frenzy, peppering kisses everywhere she could)._

_“Hermione, you know nothing has to happen if you don’t want to... _You know?_ Things are… complicated and I-”_

_“I’d have to disagree, Draco, none of this is complicated; I want you and as long as you want me, that’s all there is to it.”_

_“But, after everything, if you need time to get over things, I can wait, I’ll understand.”_

_“Darling, it’s like you’re trying to talk me out of this. What do I have to get over? Honestly? A loveless relationship that should have ended ages ago?”_

_“I just want you to be sure… If we do this I don’t know if I can go back.”_

_She stroked her thumbs lightly over his cheekbones until he surrendered, relaxing into her comforting touch with a gentle sigh that almost sounded like… _

_Oh dear…_

_When he dared to open his eyes again, she was smiling, fresh tears shining in her eyes._

_“I can’t say it and mean it the way you do now, but I promise I’m going to love you too, Draco, sooner than you think.”_

_His world exploded into endless white light. _

oOo

His memory was too foggy to ascertain how she divested him of his clothes without him noticing, or how he managed to undo the mile of buttons fastening her dress, whilst steering them toward his bedroom; but when his sense of clarity finally returned, he was overjoyed to recall her shedding the last of her undergarments, clambering over his rumpled bedding and beckoning him in with a playful smirk that matched perfectly with his own.

Feeling assured in the diffused light of a new and wonderful day, he decided he wouldn’t give in to the self-destructive thoughts scratching at the subconscious walls he trapped them behind. He wanted to savour every moment he had with Hermione, untainted by his own fear and insecurity; because of course, she had been right about everything, he was holding himself back.

The warm covers and soft mattress invited him to beside her again, his arm naturally draped over her body, bringing him close enough to pepper kisses along her neck and shoulder which she seemed to appreciate; The little minx wasted no time using their position to her advantage, she knew exactly what she was doing, wriggling her backside as much as she could under the guise of getting comfortable.

His breath caught in his throat and his entire body tensed, the shirt she had borrowed last night had ridden up, revealing her distinct lack of underwear… There was so little between them, almost nothing preventing him from being inside her within moments, but she seemed determined to take her time.

It felt like hours before she decided to dispense with pretending not to notice how she was affecting him. She turned over, her hands immediately finding their way between them, exploring the smooth planes of his chest and abdomen before she slipped beyond the waistband of his pyjamas to relieve his aching need to be touched properly.

First contact almost overwhelmed him, because it was Hermione and she was touching him and Merlin help him, last night had been- Well, there just hadn’t been any need for much preamble on his part; his priorities had been in the right place, it was an added bonus that making her fall apart on his tongue had him harder than he’d been in his life.

Still, he’d imagined how he’d fit in her hands so many times, and the real thing was a trillion times better… The way she palmed his length with confidence, her eyes watching his reactions carefully, sparkling with curiosity the way they did when she was eager to learn (bloody swot would memorise how to make him fall apart in less than a week if she studied him half as intently as she read a textbook).

She seemed to notice his mind had wandered (if briefly), immediately changing tactics for the sole purpose of making him jerk as pleasure seared through him. There was only one thing missing; unfortunately, lying awkwardly on his side with arms and legs in the way, it was near impossible for him to remedy his desperate need to reciprocate.

He wanted her to come with him, needed to see it before he could accept his own release; then she began to stroke him faster and he realised such thoughts would only push him over the edge sooner.

Resigning himself to enjoying the present, he let sensation and Hermione take over until he was a shuddering mess at her mercy.

Then another miracle came out of nowhere (the first being that they were together in the first place); she nudged him onto his back, a reversal of the night before, unceremoniously removed her shirt (Merlin only knew where it landed) and straddled his hips.

She hovered above him, her eyes tracing his form until he grew impatient, grabbed her hips and pulled her down to rut against each other. He hadn’t even considered she would already be so wet, she slid over his sensitive cock with ease, back and forth until her nails began to leave marks in his chest.

“Draco, how sturdy is your bed?”

It became suddenly apparent she had no intention of a sweet, lazy morning romp; evidently, she intended to wreck him completely.

“Does it matter? If it breaks- mmmmh fuck!-” she sank onto him when he least expected it, her satisfied expression daring him to remember how to finish his sentence “- If it breaks, I think I can afford to buy a new one.”

There was little need for complete sentences after that.

His hands rested on her thighs, waiting for her to decide she was ready to move; and when she did… Well, she wasn’t joking about her concern for his bed, she set a punishing pace that made the solid wood frame creak in protest while a galaxy bloomed before his eyes.

Unwilling to let her do all the work, he quickly set his mind to figuring out her timing, the obscene, rhythmic slap of skin confirming with each punishing thrust how in sync they were.

Time passed differently in their little bubble, minutes felt like days and they sank mindlessly into the haze of desire and pleasure they inspired in each other. It was so achingly romantic it soothed and softened the rough way they chose to express themselves.

Her breath came in short pants, a tiny huff of air seemingly forced out each time he filled her, he couldn’t resist pausing for a moment, just to feel her walls clench around his length each time; and when he reached forward to rub tight circles into her clit with his thumb, he earned a broken moan that almost made his body betray him as her perfect cunt fluttered and pulsed.

His slip didn’t escape her notice; his silent scream was pretty hard to miss… She grabbed his free hand, squeezing it encouragingly as she continued to take her pleasure from him.

“Draco… Just a little longer darling, you’re doing so well- Fuuuck!”

Unable to let her compliment pass without returning it, he inadvertently skipped over the beginning of the end. Neither of them realised just how much they liked being encouraged until her orgasm crashed down on them unexpectedly.

Watching and feeling her fall apart was enough to overload every nerve and neuron he had, swept away in the tide of her climax he came hard, pressed deep inside her; she shuddered above him, her grip on his hand crushing, while her nails left parallel trails of red down his chest. He didn’t mind in the least, after all, he was certain her hips would bear purplish impressions of his hands where he held her down for days after they left his bed.

Catching his breath, he blindly searched for something she could use to clean up once she regained control of her body. Muscles still twitching intermittently, he guided her slack body down to cradle her against his chest, enjoying the feeling of her weight on him as he helped her get comfortable.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but when he next gained consciousness, she was in the same position, albeit wearing his shirt again, her hair tied back and a little damp to touch; his heart stuttered and clenched in his chest as he watched her dream, knowing at that moment she was already keeping her promise... Even sooner than _she_ imagined.

_Fin_

_ _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for giving this a read, I hope you've enjoyed my 3 am caffeine-fueled writing extravaganza :) 
> 
> Comments and Kudos are life and give me endless willpower to keep writing, so feel free to drop me a line or a heart and know that I will reply with my endless love either in the comments or in spirit (if I could give you kudos for leaving kudos I totally would)


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